Left Behind
by MBP
Summary: SPOILERS for DH. I can't get the Weasleys out of my mind. How did they cope? Each chapter is dedicated to a different family member or friend. Now complete.
1. George

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.

A/N: I know it's been done a million times. I had to do it too. Review if you please.

He couldn't take it anymore. The sounds of weeping in the Great Hall pierced through him, and even though he never wanted to leave his brother's side again, he needed time to fix a smile on his face. It was what everyone would expect. He couldn't let them down.

Straightening up from where he'd been crouched by his twin's head, he let his hand graze Fred's hair and, swallowing hard, he elbowed his way from the room without another word. His father watched him go with a pained expression, but he said nothing. He knew that they all understood each other's grief and that they all loved Fred more than they could ever express, but he also knew that George was now experiencing something none of them could really understand.

George stumbled from the Hall, looking around desperately for a secluded corner where he could be by himself. _But he would always be by himself now_. The thought came to him unbidden. He swallowed hard again and forced himself to think. If there were anyone in Hogwarts who should be able to find a place to hide it would be him and… well, him. It would be him. Shaking his head to free the unwanted thought that the sentence was incomplete, he managed to spot an alcove that hadn't yet been destroyed and he hurried to it. To his relief, no one was there, and he slumped against the wall, closing his eyes and letting himself slide down to a sitting position.

He stared at the wall in front of him, not really seeing it, not seeing anything but the image he'd left behind in the Great Hall. _Because that's what it is_, George told himself firmly. _It's not Fred. It can't be. He wouldn't have left me like that. He can't be gone_.

He let out a shaky breath as he remembered his mother's sobs. _She wouldn't be crying like that over an image_, he thought. He gripped his head in his hands and pulled hard on his own hair, hoping the physical pain would distract him from an emotional pain he never wanted to accept or even acknowledge. But even the pain he was causing himself only reminded him of the pain Fred must have felt when he fell… no matter that there was a smile on his face, he thought bitterly, his head still in his hands, his eyes firmly closed against the tears.

It wasn't that Fred wouldn't want him to cry. He knew if the situation were reversed, this would be Fred sitting here now. Neither of them would ever try to pretend that they weren't a part of each other. But he didn't want to cry. He wanted to laugh. He shook his head against his knees, which he had now drawn up as he tried to fold into himself. He wrapped his arms around his legs and pulled tightly against them, trying to hold back the sobs that were now rising to the surface. His lips were pursed and his eyes shut tightly, but he could feel the tears slipping past the closed lids. He tried to stay as quiet as possible, but he knew he wouldn't be able to hold this in for much longer. Before he could contemplate another place he could go, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he stiffened.

Afraid to raise his head, afraid of what his voice would sound like, he managed to croak, "_What_."

But no one spoke. The hand just tightened on his shoulder, and he knew he no longer had any hope of repressing the sobs that were threatening to choke him. He just hoped whoever it was would know enough not to say anything, and he buried his face in his legs as he felt himself shake with sobs that were threatening to overwhelm him. He knew he sounded nothing like himself anymore, but he couldn't care less at this point. He wasn't himself anymore. He was just… George. How could he be a Weasley twin when he was only one?

The thought made him cry even harder, and when he finally managed to breathe again, he knew that whoever had come to him was now kneeling beside him, sniffling as well. Slowly… very slowly… he opened his eyes. Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

"I lost one of you," Percy choked, his own eyes glistening with tears, "and I'm your older brother. I couldn't let that happen again."

George nodded, trying to look reassuring, but he felt his face crumple against his will. This time, though, Percy tugged him forward, and he fell with his head crashing on his chest where his prefect badge had once sat, his older brother's arms around him, as they both shook with sobs. George calmed down first, though, and he pushed himself back to his place on the floor, watching Percy take the deep, gulping breaths that were becoming all too familiar to them now. When he seemed to master himself, the brothers stood up unsteadily, arms about each other as they walked back to the Great Hall.

As they approached the place from which George had fled, Percy felt him stiffen again and he tightened his grip.

"I've got you," he muttered, and George nodded. He tried not to look at Fred and instead looked at the rest of his family, whom he had barely acknowledged before. Bill stood with Fleur, her arms around his waist, his face twisted as he struggled to hold back his own tears. Charlie's head was hanging as he stared at the floor, his arm around Ginny. She was staring at their mother who was still lying across Fred, her shoulders shaking, and tears ran down her own cheeks. George couldn't bring himself to look at his father and instead looked at his other brother, the only other one who had seen his twin fall. Ron had his arms around Hermione and his face in her shoulder, and she was staring at the scene through tear-filled eyes even as she patted Ron's shaking shoulders, trying to murmur words of comfort.

Percy tried to guide him to stand with Ron and Hermione, but George knew where he had to be. He went back to the place he'd left, his face white and his eyes red, and slowly sat down by Fred's head. He hadn't managed to find his smile after all. He'd lost it when he lost his other half.


	2. Percy

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: I thought it was going to be a one-shot, but I needed to explore the other characters' reactions as well. We'll see how far it goes…

Percy jolted awake, looking around the once-familiar bedroom, trying to figure out what had woken him. As his breathing steadied, the dream came floating back, and he fell back against his pillows, breathing suddenly difficult again. He closed his eyes, trying to block out Fred's smile, but the harder he tried, the more pronounced it became until he finally forced himself out of bed.

Maybe walking around would help, he reasoned, as he made his way in the dark to the door of his bedroom. He maneuvered his way down the crooked stairs, glad to find himself in a deserted kitchen. Facing someone else right now wasn't what he had in mind. But food could help, he mused, as he rummaged through his mother's cupboards. He settled himself at the table with a tray of cookies that she'd hidden behind what seemed to be canned peas but was really just a shield to hide the cookies. His lips twitched in a smile as he realized that even though Ron and Ginny were the only ones still living at the Burrow, and even though they were 16 and 17, she still behaved as though she had to hide the junk food from all of her kids.

All of her kids… the smile faded as quickly as it had come as he remembered Fred and George discovering their mother's secret of creating these little veils to hide the good stuff. They'd never even told her that they'd all figured it out and just let her blame the disappearing sweets on the ghoul and the occasional gnome. Percy dropped the cookie he was holding. It now tasted like sawdust, and he put the tray back, shoving it right through the can of peas that wasn't. It was only when he turned again that his eye caught the one thing he'd been trying not to look at.

It was the clock, and his eyes sought out Fred's name as much as he tried to force them away. But there it was. He was almost comforted to see the name there, but then he saw where he was pointing, and the lump was back in his throat again, making it impossible for him to swallow. All other hands pointed, once again, at Home… they were out of Mortal Peril, for which Mrs. Weasley was eternally grateful. But she wasn't that grateful because one hand was separated from the rest, pointing at … Lost. Percy could barely read it, though, because it had blurred as his eyes filled with tears.

Sinking back into his seat at the table, he dropped his head onto his folded arms, trying not to make a sound. If he could have, he would have gone back to his room, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to move. He could feel his tears puddling on the table between his arms, and he sniffled, drawing a shaky breath.

He was still staring into the darkness of his arms, tears running down his cheeks, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He didn't raise his head, but he wondered who it would be and what they would think to find him here like this. He heard the steps stop short and knew it was at the sight of him. He half-hoped that whoever it was would retreat back up the stairs, but he was unsurprised to hear the scrape of the chair beside him as one of his siblings pulled it back to sit beside him. And then he felt the comforting hand on his arm and knew he had been wrong. It wasn't one of his siblings. It was his mother, the only person who could possibly make him feel worse at a time like this.

"Percy," she whispered, "it's …" she trailed off. He knew she'd wanted to say it was going to be ok, but it wasn't. It was never going to be ok again, and all of them knew that. He didn't want to look at her, but he knew she needed to see his face, so he took a deep breath, slowly raised his head from his arms and turned to her.

Her eyes filled when she took her first look at him, and he felt even worse. It always seemed to be this way these days. They all tried to be strong for her, but in the rare moments when they just couldn't, her tears made them feel even worse.

He took another deep breath and through trembling lips managed to say, "I'll be ok, Mum. Don't worry about me."

She tried to give him a watery smile. "I know you'll be ok, dear, but you know better than to tell me not to worry about you."

He shook his head. He wished he could respond, but now his lips were quivering too much to make further speech possible, and his mother immediately knew the problem. Hitching her chair closer to Percy's, she put her arm around him and whispered, "He forgave you Percy. You got to make your peace with him, and you even made him laugh, you said. You know there was no other way Fred would have wanted to go…"

She trailed off, but Percy wouldn't have been able to hear her anymore anyway. Her touch and her words, rather than calming him, brought every tear he was trying to repress to the surface, and he choked on a sob he could no longer control. Hunching over in his chair, her arm still across him, all of the anguish he'd been trying to hold in erupted. As he shook with the tears that he hadn't let himself shed since that moment in the alcove with George, his mother rubbed his back. Her own eyes watered, but she was taking care of her children, and the knowledge that she could still help Percy, even under these circumstances, was enough to keep her own tears at bay for the moment. For the moment…


	3. Ron

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter.

When the sun rose the next morning, Ron rose with it. he didn't know if he'd ever be able to sleep in again. Harry was still asleep on the cot that they'd come to think of as his bed when he stayed at this house. Ron glanced at him and remembered the time he'd stayed in Fred and George's room, but George was home now, and … well, that was just not something Ron would allow himself to think about right now. He shook his head as if that would rid it of the unwelcome thoughts and quickly turned to his trunk. He'd never unpacked at the end of his sixth year. That's what he could do.

It only took five minutes for Harry to wake up once Ron had started unpacking. It wasn't even the noise of his movements that woke him. It was the muffled curse as Ron jabbed himself on something sharp as he dug through his trunk. Harry almost smiled as he hoisted himself up against his pillows, remembering that he'd done the same exact thing when he'd unpacked his own trunk. But his smile quickly faded. That had been the same night he'd left Privet Drive. The night he'd lost Hedwig and Mad-Eye… no. He suddenly appreciated Ron's burst of industry and wondered what he could do to distract himself from the painful thoughts.

There was nothing he could think of that wouldn't require his leaving the room, so he quickly decided this was a good time to talk to Ron… only there didn't seem to be a safe topic of conversation these days. Either they talked about the Horcruxes, which they were both sick of thinking about, or they tried to avoid every other topic because they brought too much pain.

"So…" Harry began, in a desperate attempt to do something, anything, "find anything good in there?"

Ron looked up from his contemplation of his trunk. His face was blank and unreadable, and Harry felt a chill. He could barely count the number of times he had seen his best friend expressionless. He knew it had been the wrong question. He knew it with even more certainty when Ron slowly reached in and pulled out a puking pastille, a skiving snackbox, and a ton tongue toffee.

The silence changed as they both stared at the products sitting in Ron's hands. Harry, who had first been afraid of breathing too loudly, was quickly having the opposite problem. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. He was afraid to look up from the toffee because he knew he'd see Ron's face, and that would be even worse. Finally, though, he forced himself to raise his eyes, but he needn't have worried. All he could see was the top of Ron's head as he, too, stared at the products his brothers had given him to wreak havoc in the Gryffindor common room just like they had done.

Harry had returned his gaze to the puking pastille when the silence was finally broken by a sniffle neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Without a word, Ron got up and stepped gingerly over the contents he'd already unloaded from his trunk to place his brothers' inventions on a safer surface. He didn't bother keeping his head turned from Harry, though, who caught sight of the tears silently streaking their way down Ron's face, and he felt his insides twist painfully. It was his fault, he thought once again. These were the words constantly on the tip of his tongue and the reason he was so afraid to open his mouth these days. If he had just turned himself over to Voldemort earlier, Fred would be here right now, and he wouldn't have single handedly turned this place he once called home into an eternal funeral.

He looked once more at Ron, who had returned to sit on the side of his bed, but he'd obviously given up on his trunk. His head was hanging once again, and for the first time, Harry realized with a jolt that his shoulders were trembling again in the way they had when he'd stabbed the locket… but Harry's heart sank when he realized that no words he could say this time would fix this pain. Not when the pain was his own fault. But he had to try.

He threw back his covers and let his feet hit the cold floor, standing up slowly so as not to startle his friend who had now pulled his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, his head resting on them. His shoulders were still shaking, but he was also still quiet, so Harry took extra care to keep his footsteps as soft as possible as he crossed the room. The thought flashed through his mind that Ron would probably prefer Hermione here, but he couldn't leave without saying where he was going, and he wasn't at all sure his voice would work right now. So he took the room in two steps and then sat gingerly beside Ron, once again resting his hand on the shaking shoulder. Ron didn't throw it off this time either, and Harry squeezed hard. Neither of them spoke for minutes, and when Harry realized that this episode was likely to last longer than the other, he also realized he'd need to speak. He cleared his throat.

"I know how hard it is, mate," he said, his voice rough. "And … and I'm … I'm so sorry this happened," and before he even knew the words were coming, he added "because of me."

He'd stopped looking at Ron as soon as he'd started talking, but he could see his head jerk up out of the corner of his eyes, and he stared at his own lap, his hand still on Ron's shoulder. Slowly, he forced himself to look up again, and Ron's bloodshot blue eyes looked back at him incredulously.

"Harry… Harry, you can't mean that," he said weakly. "You know… you _know_ this wasn't your fault," he insisted. "You _know _Fred wouldn't… he wouldn't…" but his brother's name did him in, and he couldn't continue. But neither could Harry. His own eyes stung with tears, and he knew there was no chance of his holding them back anymore. Without even realizing they were moving, he and Ron turned and gripped each other tightly, each trying to pass whatever strength he still had to his best friend.


	4. Ginny&Bill

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: Well, since this is a double character chapter, it's apparently twice the length. It seemed to work best this way. There are still some more to come…

Hermione and Ginny worked in silence in Ginny's room, cleaning the area between the bed and the cot, trying to make things as presentable as Mrs. Weasley would accept. After a few minutes, Ginny rocked back on her heels, pushing her red hair out of her eyes. She let out a deep breath and mumbled something Hermione missed.

"What did you say?" she asked, shoving her own bushy hair out of her eyes as she looked up from where she was once again sorting books. This time, though, she'd removed all of the ones she'd taken with her on the journey, and she was attempting to create order out of the chaos.

"Did you hear them?" she mumbled, gesturing to the wall her bedroom shared with Ron's. Hermione felt a sinking in her stomach. She'd hoped Ginny hadn't heard, but she knew that would have been impossible. It had been hard enough for her to not go into Ron's room as soon as she heard him crying, but she realized with a jolt that it would have been just as hard for Ginny to not be able to comfort Harry. And Ginny… Hermione suddenly realized that she hadn't seen her cry since they'd all been in the Hall when the battle ended. But she was, unsurprisingly, the tough one of the family. Even her brothers knew it.

Hermione realized Ginny was staring at her and that she hadn't answered. She nodded quickly, glancing back down at the books.

"Yes," she mumbled. "I heard them."

Neither of them spoke for a long time until Ginny sighed again and sat all the down from where she'd been crouching.

"I don't know, Hermione," she said quietly, and Hermione let the book she was holding fall when she realized that Ginny was actually talking for the first time. "I mean… I wanted to go in there and just be with them, but… well, it seems like we're all so disconnected these days. Be honest… have you ever heard the Burrow so quiet?"

Hermione looked into Ginny's pained brown eyes and shook her head. "No, I haven't. I know what you mean, though. I'd have expected to see more of everyone but…" and she trailed off, but Ginny picked up her sentence.

"But everyone's staying in their own rooms. I never thought my family would react this way. You know us. We're in each other's business more than anyone I've ever known. But now… I haven't seen George since we've all been home. I don't know why everyone's hiding," she muttered, the pain in her voice evident in spite of how much she was obviously trying to hide it.

Hermione looked at her carefully and chose not to point out that Ginny, herself, didn't leave her room unless someone specifically requested her presence elsewhere.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and each of them looked up with the hope that it would be either Ron or Harry, but when Ginny called for whomever it was to come in, they both stared in surprise at Fleur.

The blond haired young woman slipped in, closing the door behind her, and she smiled weakly at the two girls.

"Ginny, I need to talk with you," she began, twisting her hands. Hermione jumped up. This was the perfect chance for her to check on Ron, and she fully intended to take it. As soon as she'd gone, Fleur sat down on Ginny's bed and waited for her sister-in-law to join her, which she did, unable to keep the confusion from her face.

"Ginny," she began, "I know we have not had zee chance to talk much, and I am sorry, but… I need your help," she almost whispered.

Ginny stared at her and then realized that Fleur was waiting for her to say something, so she forced herself to speak. "Sure, of course. What do you need me to do?"

Fleur's expression relaxed a little, and she flicked her hair back unconsciously.

"Eet's… eet's Bill. I do not know what to do for heem… you know how sensitive he is, I know. You remember how badly he took eet when we lost Mad-Eye… but this time… he won't even talk to me. He won't talk to anyone. Your mother has tried… so has your father… nothing will work. I know better than to talk to any of your other brothers, but maybe eef you could…" she trailed off, and Ginny felt a knot in her stomach. As much as she'd meant what she'd been telling Hermione about not liking the isolation each of her family members was insisting upon… it would be so hard to try to break through it. But one look at Fleur's ravaged face showed her that she didn't have much of a choice.

"Of course I will," she said quietly, and Fleur grasped her hand.

"Thank you, Ginny. I knew you would help if you could," she said gratefully, her own voice wobbling. She cleared her throat and said, "Please… come with me now? Bill … he ees in our room, and he's … not doing anything. Ok?"

The knot tightened, but Ginny nodded. If she were going to do this, she'd need to get it over with.

She followed Fleur up the stairs, noticing as she passed Ron's bedroom that she could hear renewed sniffling and realized that Hermione had gone in there. But she had a feeling that the place she was going would be no happier.

When they reached the room that had been Bill's for so many years, she followed Fleur inside. Bill was sitting on his bed, staring at a photo album, but he snapped it shut when he realized he was no longer alone. Ginny caught sight of it as he shoved it under his pillow, though, and she swallowed hard when she realized that it was pictures from their trip to Egypt four years ago.

He glowered at both of them and then grabbed a copy of the Daily Prophet that was lying next to him on the bed and held it up pointedly. Ginny scowled. Bill would do this to her when she would annoy him as a little kid, and she'd hated it then too.

Fleur made a motion as if she were about to grab the paper out of his hands, but Ginny reached out a hand to stop her and did it herself. Bill glared at her.

"I was reading that," he tried to say coldly, but his voice couldn't reach that tone, and he just sounded tired. Ginny sat at his feet, and Fleur took the chair closer to the door, watching them anxiously.

"No," Ginny said simply, and Bill just looked at her.

After a moment he said, "Fleur got you too, huh. Mum and Dad have been up here. I don't know what everyone wants me to say." His voice was hoarse from lack of use, and Fleur shifted in the chair, surprised, Ginny knew, that Bill had even said this much. She wasn't, though. She knew when she'd agreed to this that he'd at least talk to her. None of her brothers had ever been able to ignore her for long. It was one of the few perks of being the only sister.

"Well, how about why you won't say anything," she said simply. Her voice was quiet but firmer than Fleur had ever heard her speak, and she caught her breath as she expected another explosion from her husband… but it didn't come.

"I don't have anything to say," he said flatly, refusing to meet Ginny's eyes. He shifted his position against the pillows to avoid her gaze, and the corner of the photo album slid out. Before Bill realized what she was doing, Ginny reached over and grabbed it, opening randomly to a picture that sent a stab of pain shooting through her. As she stared at Fred and George waving and making faces at the camera, she was aware of Bill's quick intake of breath and realized that he must have been avoiding this one or at least not looking at it for longer than a moment at a time.

Slowly, she raised her head to look at him again. He was now staring, transfixed, at a sight neither of them would ever see again out of the pages of an album, and it had the effect that neither Fleur nor Ginny nor Mr. or Mrs. Weasley had been able to achieve. When he finally looked back at her, his eyes were full, and he said, his voice shaking, "What can I say, Gin? That I miss him? You know that. That I never thought it could happen to our family? Who did? That I wonder what George will do now? Who doesn't? That I don't know if or how we'll ever get over this? Who…?" and he trailed off, turning his head away from his little sister.

Ginny's own eyes had filled with tears for the first time since she'd been home, and she inched closer to Bill, reaching out to put her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, though, and she drew back as if she'd been burned. Standing up, the tears quivering on her lashes, she snapped, "You're not the only one thinking those things, Bill Weasley. Do you think I feel any better? Do you think any of us do?"

Fleur stood up for the first time, reaching out with her hands as if that could smooth out this disagreement, but before she could say a word, Bill suddenly turned back to look at his sister, and she felt as if she'd had the wind knocked out of her.

For the first time she could ever remember, there were tears on his face, and he slowly reached out to Ginny. Without another word, she flew into his arms, and he rocked her as she finally broke down, her sobs echoing through the room and, gradually, his mingled with hers. He buried his face in her shoulder as he choked on his own tears. Fleur hesitated for a moment and then joined them on the bed, sitting beside Bill and rubbing his back as he held tightly to his little sister. Tears were running down her own cheeks, but she barely noticed. She'd asked for this. She'd wanted to help him. She'd never imagined it would hurt so much.


	5. Charlie

Dislcaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Molly Weasley sat in the living room, flicking her wand occasionally as the room went about the business of cleaning itself. She tried to push from her mind the thought that the last time she'd had to clean for any kind of company, it had been for a wedding. If she'd known then… no. She shook her head. She couldn't afford to think that way. She couldn't have changed anything, as Arthur kept reminding her, and she had to stop wishing she could. She was convinced that Harry could feel her longing, and she was determined not to add to that boy's pain. He should be happy, she thought. He'd saved the world… no small feat, obviously. But she knew he was miserable. She'd only seen him at mealtimes, but the anguish in his eyes whenever he glanced in her direction pierced her, and his words from the weekend of the wedding came floating back to her.

She knew how much it hurt him to know back then that he was inconveniencing her and the whole family by staying with them, and that was only magnified by Fred… Molly shook her head again as tears stung her eyes. She couldn't bear to think of him right now. She resumed her direction of the cleaning of the room, letting her thoughts return to Harry. She wished there were some way she could reassure him that none of them blamed him, that they'd all known the risks… but it was clear that even knowing the risks didn't mean any of them ever thought this could happen to _Fred_. Her eyes burning again, she flicked the wand with renewed vigor, sending a pile of Daily Prophets tumbling into the wall.

As she resettled them on the ledge by the window, she became aware of a presence in the room, and she hurriedly wiped her eyes on the corner of her sleeve before turning around. She would have been surprised to see any of her children, now that she thought of it. Whenever they weren't eating, or at least pretending to eat, they'd all taken to their rooms. She knew that Fleur had brought Ginny to talk to Bill the previous day, but that was because Fleur and Hermione had occasionally come to see if she needed anything. So she did know that Ginny had gotten Bill to speak… and to cry, Fleur had said, and Molly felt her stomach churn at the thought of her first born in that much pain. She also knew from Hermione that Harry and Ron had been having their own talks in Ron's room, and she smiled now, thinking that in spite of everything, she'd most likely have another daughter in due time, provided Ron kept reading that silly book the twins… she trailed off again, swallowing hard, refusing to let herself follow that line of thought. Finally, she turned around. She forced a smile as Charlie sat down beside her, reaching his arm around her.

He squeezed her to him and then said quietly, his voice unnaturally deep, "Cleaning again, Mum? It looks great in here."

She moved away gently so she could see him better, but he refused to meet her eyes, looking around the room that had once been so familiar to him. She decided to just follow the conversation he'd started, sure she'd find out soon enough why he'd come down.

"Thanks, dear," she said, continuing to straighten up as they sat beside each other. "But it's been so long since I've tidied up around here. And we have all of those people coming tomorrow…" but here she trailed off again. There were so many things she simply couldn't say, both for her own sake and for her children. There were so many things that could trigger tears, and she wasn't ready to cry, nor, she thought, was Charlie ready to see it. None of them were. She needed to be strong for them.

Almost as though he were reading her mind, her son moved closer to her. His hands were in his lap, and she stared at them as they trembled. She reached over and took one, holding onto it tightly.

"Why did you come down here," she asked him gently, raising her eyes to look at his face, and she saw the tears swimming in his eyes, but he smiled crookedly at her and said, "Well, I figured you could give me that haircut…"

He trailed off, and Molly forced herself to smile back in spite of the tears once again stinging her eyes.

"Of course," she said gently, leading him into the kitchen. He sat at the chair, and she stood behind him with her wand. She was about to release the spell when she realized it wouldn't work. She couldn't give him a tolerable haircut if his shoulders were shaking, and the moment he'd turned his back to her, they'd started.

Putting down her wand, she reached around her son and hugged him to her as he kept his face tucked into his chest.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he whispered. "I wanted to do this for you, but …" he trailed off as his voice choked up, and she hugged him more tightly.

"It's ok, sweetheart," she murmured, trying to breathe deeply so his own hitched breathing would slow down and match her own. It worked slowly, and after a few minutes, he reached up and drew his hand across his eyes. He turned his head and gave her a watery smile.

"Time for that haircut?" he asked, and she tried to smile encouragingly back as she picked up her wand again. She waited until he'd turned back and looked at her own trembling hand. How much longer she could do this, she didn't know…


	6. Lee Jordan

Dislcaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

It was the first time the entire family had been together since the end of the battle. As they sat quietly in the living room, waiting for people to arrive for the funeral, they all felt the awkwardness and it hurt all of them. Arthur Weasley felt a pit in his stomach and knew that all the spark plugs in the world couldn't take away this kind of pain. He reached for Molly's hand and gave her a small smile when she took it. He needed to smile for her. There were a lot of people he needed to smile for these days.

Without even realizing it, his eyes fell on George. Everyone had been sneaking looks at George all morning, and Arthur knew why. It was like they thought they could hold onto what they were all missing this way… because if they looked at George quickly and then closed their eyes, they could forget that there was only one of him… but today, that was harder. The pictures of Fred that surrounded them made it harder. Fred winked and smiled at them from every picture… but so did George. Molly hadn't been able to find one picture of just Fred. And Arthur couldn't imagine how much that must hurt his twin.

But George was staring at the floor, oblivious to the surreptitious glances of the rest of the members of his family. He was practicing the eulogy in his head, hoping it would come out all right, hoping his voice would make it through this in one piece. He didn't know how feasible that was, though… considering he hadn't used his voice in days.

His lips twisted in the ghost of the perpetual smile he'd now abandoned. He couldn't remember any other time in his life when he'd been silenced. There had been many times, he was sure, when their parents and teachers would have devoutly wished for such an occurrence, but now… well, he'd give it to them 100 times over if it meant he could have Fred back. What was the point of talking now? He'd have to finish his own sentences. Maybe that was why he hadn't spoken yet, he suddenly realized. He still didn't know for sure how to do that. Shaking his head, he continued to stare at the floor. He couldn't look in the mirror either. It reminded him too much of the cold fact that this was now the only place where he could see his own face reflecting back at him.

The silence was suddenly broken by the first loud crack of the day as the Gryffindor Quidditch team apparated into the garden. All of the Weasleys, including Harry and Hermione, looked up, and Harry and Ron's faces both relaxed almost with relief as they recognized Oliver, Katie, and Angelina. The boys, Hermione and Ginny hurried outside to see them, but George, after a quick inspection of the group, returned to his contemplation of the carpet. Until he heard a voice in his ear.

"Get out here, you git. We're having a reunion." He looked up, startled. No one had even approached him in days, let alone spoken to him, and the words had a surprising impact even though they came from Oliver. Shrugging at the surprised looks on his parents' faces, he rose to his feet and followed him out to the garden.

They all quieted down when he came out, and Angelina approached him first, her eyes brimming with tears. The hug she gave him conveyed all of the pain she felt not only for herself but for this friend who had lost so much. George cut it off quickly. He wasn't ready to feel… all of that… yet. He smiled quickly at Angelina, though, to let her know he appreciated the gesture.

Katie hugged him next, and without even realizing it, he held onto her for a moment longer than he'd let Angelina hug him. Maybe it was because she wasn't crying, but it seemed to George that she was trying to be there for him more than she needed him to be there for her. He appreciated that. He let out a deep breath when he released her and tried once more for the old smile that just wouldn't come.

Oliver slung an arm over his shoulders. "How are you doing, mate?" he asked in a low voice, and George glanced sideways at him and shrugged. He appreciated that they were all here. He really did. But he still didn't know how to talk. Gently ducking out from under Oliver's arm, he wandered away from the group of them to walk around to the side of the house. As he went, he heard the concerned voices of his friends as they asked Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny if he'd talked to anyone yet, but he didn't hear their responses. He didn't need to. He knew the answer.

He was about to sit down against the side of the house when he realized that someone else was already there. He stared down at the figure who was sitting in the spot he'd been aiming for, his arms wrapped around his legs, his head tucked in his arms, and he felt some of the numbness start to fade. Without a word, he slid down beside this oldest and best friend, the one he counted a partner next to Fred, and he felt the pain in the back of his throat.

"Hey," he whispered, forcing his voice out for the first time in days.

Lee raised his head in surprise and turned to look at George, his red eyes mirroring the pain in George's bright blue ones.

"Hey," he mumbled. He let his legs slide down, and he looked away. "Sorry. It's just… I guess it finally hit me." He didn't say any more, but no one needed less of an explanation than the red haired boy now swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Will we.. " he started and then trailed off. The silence stretched interminably, and when Lee turned to him, the tears in his eyes spilled over.

"Ever laugh again?" he asked. He tried but it sounded a lot more like a sob. "I don't know… but don't you think he'd want us to?"

George nodded, his lips trembling now, as he realized that Lee had finished his sentence. That had been Fred's job…

Through his tears, Lee watched reality dawn in the eyes of the only best friend he had left, and he realized what he'd just done.

"No one will ever replace him," he whispered, his breathing ragged. "But we'll have to laugh again."

George nodded, ducking his head as his own tears finally came. He knew. He just didn't know how he'd make it through this eulogy now.


	7. Harry

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: I really appreciate the reviews and alerts. Keep 'em coming. I know this a short one, but I needed another chapter before the eulogy, and I needed that to have its own chapter. It's coming up next.

It took over an hour for everyone to get to the Burrow, and Harry sat with Ginny while they waited and tried not to think about what they were waiting for. She held his hand tightly, and he let himself lapse into the comfortable role of caretaker. It was a lot easier to pretend she'd need help more than he would, but he knew enough about how hard this was going to be to dread it. He was forcibly reminded of how he'd felt at Dumbledore's funeral … and when he'd buried Dobby … and when he'd gone to see his parents … his pressure on her hand tightened. She smiled at him gratefully, and he smiled weakly back. He didn't want her to worry about him. She had enough to worry about now.

Once the rest of the family had arrived, they all walked slowly out to the garden behind the house. It had been decided, after much discussion, that they would hold the service behind their home and then move to the graveyard for the burial. All of the Weasleys agreed that Fred would have wanted the comfort of home, and none of them found it necessary to point out that they wanted the same.

Harry looked around at the chairs set up and was suddenly hit with a wave of grief as he recalled the last time he'd been with all of these people in this very place… at Bill and Fleur's wedding. His eyes stinging, he looked down very quickly at the ground as he realized that, in spite of the fact that his hair had been a Weasley red at that occasion, he'd never felt more like a member of the family than he did today.

He followed Ginny to the first row and sat beside her, comforted by having Hermione and Ron on his other side. As he glanced down the row, he saw that they were sitting in age order. Arthur and Molly sat in the first two seats, followed by Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Hermione, himself and Ginny. He sighed, and Hermione turned slightly to look at him, concern in her deep brown eyes. He knew she was worried about him, and he knew why. She was the only one who'd been with him when he'd gone back to Godric's Hollow, and she alone knew how hard that had been. He slowly reached for her hand with his other one, hoping neither Ron nor Ginny would mind, but then he realized that almost everyone else was holding hands as well. Hermione squeezed his hand tightly, and he let out another deep breath. He was ready for this to start.

Or… he'd thought he was. As the same grey-haired wizard stood before them, he thought once again of Dumbledore's funeral, and he felt the lump in his throat swell. He bit down on his lip as his eyes filled with tears again. This time, he wasn't on the end, and there was no way to hide his tears… but then he remembered Godric's Hollow, and again, he thought… what was the use of pretending. As the wizard spoke of Fred's life and the noble way in which he died, the tears spilled down Harry's cheeks, and with each of his hands being held, there was no way to wipe them off. He let them fall, his breathing ragged, and he could feel Ginny heaving with silent sobs to his right as she leaned against him. Hermione clutched his hand tightly, her own eyes streaming. He was afraid to look down the line again, but he did catch sight of Ron out of the corner of his eye and was shocked to see his expression stony and his eyes dry. His own tears stopped as abruptly as though he'd turned off a faucet, and he felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Why wasn't Ron crying? Why could he… control himself? He swallowed hard. If Ron could do it… well, so could he.

He suddenly became aware of a quiet spreading over the garden, and he wrenched his attention back to the podium. His breath caught in his throat as he realized that George was now standing before them. His face was white, and Harry's mind flashed to the other celebrations in this garden: Fred and George entertaining Fleur's cousins at the wedding, his own birthday party when the twins had bewitched the 17 to hang above the family as they celebrated… the family. He shook his head again, determined to concentrate on George, determined to show the same strength as Ron.


	8. Eulogy

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: This one made me cry to write. I can't stop feeling for George. And yes, there will be more chapters. I can't seem to break away from this family.

George stared out over the assembled crowd and gripped the sides of the podium so tightly that his knuckles turned white. It was the first word that would be hardest, he reasoned to himself, trying to look over the faces staring up at him. He didn't want to look into anyone's eyes because he knew what they were seeing. It was what he saw every time he looked in the mirror. Fred. How he wished it were…

He swallowed hard. No, he couldn't think that way. It wouldn't help anything. The silence started to become slightly uncomfortable. With a start, he realized he'd been standing there for a few minutes, staring over everyone's heads. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth. It was now or never.

"We're all here to honor Fred," he began and was distantly pleased that his voice didn't shake. Maybe he could do this.

"It's hard to imagine that anyone who knew my twin wouldn't know that he'd be laughing at all of us right now. He'd look around and ask why all the long faces. He even died with a smile…" and he trailed off. _He even died_… the phrase kept echoing through his head, and all of a sudden the crowd grew blurry, and he blinked hard. No. With a shaky laugh, he tried to continue.

"He'd also be laughing at me right now," he continued. His took a deep breath to steady himself. "He'd want to know what in God's name I was planning on saying about him. He'd probably even be scared to hear it because, well, we haven't always been known for our tact…" and here he trailed off again. _We… we… _ but there wasn't a "we" anymore, George thought, and he felt a tear trickle down his cheek. He flushed and swiped it away furiously, refusing, once again, to make eye contact with anyone sitting before him.

Another deep breath. "There are a lot of things I should say," he plowed ahead. "No one knew Fred better than I did, but I don't think I need to say anything more than this. He knew what he was getting into when we went to Hogwarts that day. He knew what the risks were, and of course, he knew that they were worth it."

For the first time, he allowed himself to look at his family members, and the words he hadn't expected to say came straight from his heart as he spoke directly into the pained green eyes before him.

"Harry, he would have gone through fire for you and never regretted it, so don't ever feel like this is your fault. We think of you as just as much of a brother as Ron…" This time, the "we" hurt Harry more than it hurt George, and George watched as he bowed his head, the tears once again dripping onto his lap. He forced himself to look away and at the one other person he knew he had to address.

Percy's face was twisted as if he were looking directly into the sun, but he wasn't looking directly at anything, and George knew he was about to make things that much harder, but he needed to say this too. He looked directly at Percy in spite of the fact that Percy wasn't looking at him.

"Everyone here would give anything to get Fred back, but we have to remember that he didn't die with any grudges. He did die with a smile on his face because he knew we'd gotten our brother back. Percy, I think it's safe to say that both of us would have predicted that we'd die before we ever heard you make a joke. Well, Fred didn't. He got to see you make a joke, Perce, and…" His next words were swallowed by the sob Percy couldn't control, and he hunched over in his seat, his shoulders shaking violently.

George knew he had moments before the tears now welling in his eyes would be contained no longer, so, his voice scratchy, he said, "he wouldn't regret this. Sure, he'd be mad that I now have the sole responsibility of running the business… he'd say ruining it… but he wouldn't regret this. We have to live for him now. It's the only way ..." He could speak no more. He finally looked at the rest of his siblings. Bill's face was buried in Fleur's shoulder, and her face was buried in his. Charlie had put his arm around Percy when he'd started crying, but his own eyes were full as he rubbed his younger brother's back. Ron, surprisingly, sat staring straight ahead, no hint of emotion in his blue eyes as Hermione sobbed into his shoulder, his hand patting her back rhythmically. Ginny was in Harry's arms, her own shoulders shaking to match his as he clutched her to him, the two of them abandoning all hope of control. George suddenly realized he was staring through blurred eyes, and he knew he had to move.

He rushed back to his seat. His parents looked at him as he walked towards them, and Molly's hand reached to him as he went, but he shrank back from her touch. If there were anyone's touch he needed to avoid, it was hers. If anyone could bring the tears he wanted to repress, it was her. As he sank into his seat, he buried his face in his hands. He couldn't look at anyone, couldn't talk to anyone. The only person he still wanted to see was the reason they were all here.


	9. Molly

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: This one is slightly longer than the last two. Somehow, it's getting harder to write. I still feel so bad about this.

The graveyard was over the hill, out of sight of the Burrow, which was just fine with George. The less he could see of the reminder of all he would be missing for the rest of his life… the better. He and his brothers had used their wands to guide the coffin to this new grave, and once they were all there, he stepped as far away as he could from the hole in the ground. He may have had to talk and he may have had to be there, but none of that meant he had to watch. He'd just managed to get himself under control. He most definitely was not going to watch.

Everyone else pressed forward to hear the service, but George contented himself with watching the backs of their heads. He mused that Fred would have snorted if he could see the way Harry and Ginny couldn't seem to let go of each other, and he wondered if he should do it in his honor, but then he thought about why they clung so tightly, and the snort faded before it even began. Would he ever be able to make a joke again, he wondered? Then he shook his head, unwilling to think about that right now. He didn't know that Katie was watching him through the crowd.

It was a full minute before George realized that a silence had fallen again, and he suddenly looked up. He didn't mean to, but he instinctively looked for his brother … the only one he wouldn't be able to find. And his eyes saw the last thing they'd wanted to. The coffin was gracefully lowering into the ground, and he suddenly realized, for the first time, that he would never see him again. He would never talk to him again. He would never laugh with him again or joke with him again or… anything. He would never be a Weasley twin again.

Without even knowing where he was going, he stumbled away from the group. He was vaguely aware that he was heading away from the Burrow, but he just didn't care. He couldn't seem to care about anything anymore except getting away. He only stopped when he was out of sight of the graveyard, and then suddenly, he couldn't have taken another step. He dropped to the ground against a tree and pulled his knees up to his chest. For a moment, he stared off into nothingness, his vision blurring as the tears he'd been holding back all day rose precariously to the surface. He dropped his face into his arms and just closed his eyes.

He was still sitting there when he heard the leaves crunch next to him. He wouldn't raise his head, but he didn't need to. The hand on his shoulder this time wasn't Percy's. It was softer, and he stiffened, thinking it was his mother. This was the last thing she needed. This whole thing would be hard enough without George crying in her arms and making it worse. He couldn't look up. He just couldn't. And then he heard a voice he didn't expect.

"It's just me," Katie murmured, and he froze. Katie? Did he hear correctly? Slowly, he raised his head, hoping with all his might that she was by herself. She was. She was looking at him with the calm, measured gaze that he'd depended on to win them Quidditch games. And it was this gaze that did him in.

Without a word, she crouched beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he finally crumbled. As his sobs echoed through the quiet countryside, she held on tightly, trying to hold his pain as the tears welled up in her own eyes. But she forced them back. Now was not the time for her to give in. Now had to be George's turn. Neither of them realized that his sobs carried.

What seemed like hours later to Katie, but was really only five minutes, she was shocked to see Mrs. Weasley standing before them. Her eyes were haunted, red, and swollen, but she looked up to the task. She always did, Katie realized with admiration. Molly smiled at the girl, nodding her thanks, and motioned silently for her to go back to the Burrow. It was time she talked to her son.

George was vaguely aware of Katie's arms leaving him, but he didn't look up. He was aware enough, though, to realize that someone new had joined them. Then his mother's familiar scent reached him, and he gasped, fresh tears in his eyes. The time for hiding was over, he realized, as she got down on the grass beside him, if only because there was no longer any point. She was here. She knew. Slowly, he raised his head, and he looked into her tear-filled eyes.

"I miss him," he said, his voice trembling, and she nodded, her lips pursed together.

"So do I, George. We all do."

He nodded. "I know. I know everyone does. But … but how will I do this without him, Mum?" Everything he'd been thinking for days came pouring out of his mouth. "He was … he was half of me. I can't even make jokes anymore because he came up with them. Who … who will you mix me up with? How…?" and his voice choked off. He couldn't continue.

Molly put her arm around him and pulled him close.

"He will _always_ be your other half, George. I know you feel like you aren't a twin anymore because he isn't here, but if you won't pretend he never existed, then I promise no one else was planning on it either. We can't. Fred will always be a part of who we are, and he will always be your twin. Just like he'll always be my son."

Her own voice choked up here, and George suddenly realized that while he thought he was suffering the most … he wasn't. He was just suffering differently. He turned into his mother's embrace and hugged her tightly, both of them shaking with the sobs they'd each been trying to repress for each other.

When they finally stopped, they pulled away from each other, Molly dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, George rubbing his with the heels of his hands. She smiled slightly when she saw this, suddenly reminded of the twins when they were no more than five. This was how most of their fights ended, both of them in tears and rubbing them away with their hands to remove the evidence.

"Ready to go back?" she asked quietly, and he nodded, pushing himself to his feet and then reaching out to pull her up. They walked back to the Burrow in a comfortable silence that Molly broke as they approached the front door.

"You'll laugh again," she said quietly. "But you need to cry first. And please… look after Ron. I think he's having a harder time than he's letting on."


	10. Hermione

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Obviously.

A/N: Please continue to review. I can't tell you how much I appreciate them. I'm pretty sure there will still be more. Arthur still needs a chapter, after all. The idea at the end of this comes from an interview I recently read with JKR. It made me happy and sad at the same time. (Oh, and this is the longest one yet. I don't even know why.)

The service had ended; the family had disapparated, and Hermione was completely exhausted but not for the reasons she would have expected. She wasn't exhausted because of hours spent comforting Ron, as she'd thought she might be. She was exhausted because of hours spent worrying about why she _wasn't_ comforting Ron… why wasn't he crying?

The day Ginny had gone to talk to Bill had been hard. Of course it had. But that was the kind of day she'd expected to be having on a somewhat regular basis. Not that she wanted it… she shuddered when she remembered walking into that room to find Harry and Ron each seemingly absorbed in his own task, each with tears running down his face. She'd hugged Ron for a long time that afternoon, and he'd seemed marginally better by the time nighttime rolled around. But she didn't think it meant he'd dried up. It still seemed like he'd have a lot more tears to cry. She knew she did.

But now? Nothing. No one else had managed to keep it together during the service, not even George, as they'd all heard in the distance after the burial had ended. When Mrs. Weasley had motioned for the rest of them to go back to the Burrow without her, Ron had woodenly put his arm around her just like he was "supposed to," and they had walked together in silence. Harry and Ginny were sniffling behind them, but in addition to making her ache for them, it also increased her worry about Ron. She'd always known he wasn't emotional, but it wasn't even like he was trying to hide his feelings. He'd expressed them… twice. He just… she was worried that he seemed to think he was "done." And she was also worried that she was the only one who'd noticed.

It was late afternoon now. She was in Ginny's room, lying on the bed she'd come to think of as her own, and staring at the ceiling. Ginny was off somewhere with Harry, and Ron was… somewhere. She'd knocked on his door, had no answer, peeked inside, found no one, and just come in here, frustrated, sad, and tired. She didn't know how to help him if he didn't seem to think he needed help. Closing her eyes, she reviewed the last week.

Finding Fred… in her mind, she once again struggled to hold Ron back as he raged and sobbed in her arms, desperately trying to find the Death Eaters who had killed his brother. Then she was in the Great Hall, holding Ginny in her arms as she shook with her own sobs and Ron went to join his brothers. Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered how lost they had all looked, how George had sat there until bolting from Hall, Percy going after him. And then they'd both returned, looking worse for the wear, and George had resumed his place beside his twin, staring at him once again as if still completely unable to believe what he was seeing.

The tears started to roll down Hermione's cheeks as she remembered the sound of George's sobs carrying to them as they stood at the grave. It had been a trigger, apparently. Bill, who had seemed to compose himself as they approached the grave, suddenly fell apart, his wrenching sobs almost drowning out George's far-away ones. Fleur would have most certainly fallen over under the weight of this grief if Arthur hadn't pulled his oldest into a bear hug, holding him tightly as tears slipped down his own face. Charlie had kept his arm around Percy since that moment during the eulogy, but when Bill broke down, Percy seemed to suddenly come out of his own stupor to realize that Charlie's shoulders had started shaking as well, and he pulled his older brother into a hug of his own.

It _had_ been a trigger, Hermione thought now… for everyone but Ron. For a moment, after Charlie started crying, she thought she felt Ron convulse, and she had tightened her grip on his waist, but he merely patted her back, maintaining his wooden stance. She didn't get it. This wasn't the Ron Weasley she knew she loved. Or maybe it was… but she didn't know how to help him when he was like this.

Hours later, nothing had changed. Dinner had been quiet, but everyone else seemed slightly more relaxed. Hermione reasoned that maybe the funeral did serve as some kind of closure because even Mrs. Weasley cracked a smile. It was small, but it was still a smile. And it came after George… made a joke. It was a bad one. It was hardly even funny. But after a moment of shocked silence in which everyone almost held their breaths… they had all laughed.

Well… all except Ron. He wasn't just not crying, Hermione realized. He wasn't doing anything. Yet … she suddenly realized that she wasn't the only one who noticed. George had caught her eye, and in his, she read the same concern she'd known for days. They didn't talk… but Hermione let out a deep breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding.

When dinner ended, they'd all gone back to their own rooms, but a kind of peace had indeed settled over the Burrow, and Hermione recognized it in Ginny's even breathing as she fell asleep almost instantly. She didn't toss and turn like she'd had most other nights, and Hermione was grateful for this. It had hurt her to see her friend in so much silent pain, and she'd wanted nothing more for her than a night of dreamless sleep. Now it looked like she might get it.

But Hermione couldn't sleep. Everyone else might be at peace… she wasn't. She was lying on her bed, eyes wide open, when she heard a light knock on the door. Jumping up quickly so as not to disturb Ginny, she opened the door slowly and was stunned to see George standing there.

"Ginny… Ginny's asleep," she whispered uncertainly. She could hardly look into his eyes. As much as she'd delighted in the fact that he'd made a joke just hours earlier, his eyes were more haunted now than she'd seen them since Hogwarts.

"I know," he mumbled. "I need you. Come with me?"

"Sure," she said slowly, surprised but obedient. She closed the door behind her as she slipped out onto the landing, and George led her up the stairs into a bedroom into which she'd never been before. The most she'd ever known of the twins' bedroom was that it could be dangerous with all of their untested merchandise (as she'd been unfortunate enough to discover through a black eye of her own). Now, though, there was nothing there except two beds and a few boxes. It wasn't clear upon first glance which bed was George's because both were unmade, and Hermione quickly turned her eyes away, unwilling to give herself more of a reason to cry.

She looked instead at George, who still hadn't said a word but was now standing at his window staring down at something in the garden below. He motioned for her to join him, and she did, wondering why on earth he had brought _her_ here. And then she looked down; her stomach dropped; tears sprang to her eyes and she understood.

"I didn't know what to do," George whispered miserably, not looking at Hermione, but she heard the tears in his voice, and she touched his arm gently.

"Let's go," she said quietly, leading him back out of his room and down the stairs. Once at the back door, they each took a deep breath and then stepped into the moonlit garden.

Ron didn't hear them. He was sitting behind the bushes, so he didn't even see them. Not that he would have been in much of a condition to see anyone at this point, Hermione thought to herself, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her as she and George walked as softly as they could manage to her boyfriend's hiding place.

They took a seat on either side of him, and he rested his face in the crook of his arm, unwilling to look at either of them.

"It hurts," he said thickly, his words almost indistinct.

Hermione said nothing, just rubbed softly between his shoulder blades as tears fell from her own eyes. It was George who somehow found the words.

"It does," he acknowledged, his own voice strained. "But Ron… it hurts all of us. It's like Mum said… we're all in this together. And Fred will always be a part of all of us. We'll always miss him, Ron, but I promise that at least I'll never stop calling you ickle Ronniekins. We knew how much you loved that…"

Hermione looked at him, a faint smile through her tears, but his words had the opposite effect on Ron. He removed his face from his arm, took one look at the half that sat before him so bravely, and dissolved into tears.

He threw his arms around his brother, much to George's surprise, but he remembered his mother's words and held on tightly, trying with all his might to think of something funny. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention something about Ron's apparent affinity for garden gnomes when his little brother said the last words he would have expected.

"I want to help you with the joke shop," he mumbled into George's shoulder, as his tears slowed. "I want to make it into something Fred would be proud of."

George suddenly found that he was having a hard time breathing through a lump in his throat. _No_, he thought to himself. _Don't make this any harder on Ron than it already is. Don't make Hermione comfort two of you._

But then his mother's words came back to him. _"You'll laugh again, but you need to cry first."_ She was always right. He buried his own face in Ron's shoulder as the tears seeped out again.

"Ok," he managed to croak, and he felt Ron's arms tighten in response.

Hermione continued to rub Ron's back as the tears ran down her own cheeks, and in spite of the hardness of the ground and the occasional gnome peeking curiously out of the bushes, she, too, began to feel the peace that had begun to pervade the Burrow.


	11. Aftermath

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: I needed another chapter to set up Arthur's. I'm also thinking of wrapping this up with his chapter and then possibly starting a new story as an almost epilogue to this one at some point in the not-so-distant future. Let me know what you all think of this idea? Thanks. (Oh, and I will say one thing for this story. It is teaching me the benefits of long chapters. This is the longest yet.)

The day after the funeral wasn't as peaceful as the previous night had been. As much as Hermione might have hoped that everyone was on the road to recovery, Molly Weasley knew that this was going to be a long road indeed.

Bill and Fleur had been planning to leave for Shell Cottage early in the morning, but neither of them seemed to have much motivation when they appeared at breakfast, so Molly offered to have them stay for dinner. Bill accepted so quickly that Arthur glanced quickly at Molly and then looked away. She knew he was worried that Bill might not ever want to leave, but she didn't see what she could do about that. It wasn't like she was ever going to kick any of her children out even if Arthur seemed to think that might be for the best. She knew it wasn't.

Charlie didn't seem ready to leave either, now that Molly thought about it. Neither did Percy or George. No one did. She hated to admit that she preferred it this way. It had been a long time since all of her children had wanted to be under her roof, but now that they did… well, she, for one, welcomed them. She didn't think she'd ever be ready for the empty nest again.

The day was a quiet one, but it was punctuated by moments of unexpected grief as they all now seemed to be. The first came halfway through the morning. Molly was overseeing the clothes as they cleaned themselves in the small room off the living room when she heard someone in the kitchen. Whoever it was seemed to be by himself, so she poked her head around and was surprised to see Harry. He wasn't normally alone these days. Ginny wouldn't let him out of her sight now that she had him back, and Molly couldn't have been happier about that. But here he was, looking for something but also looking like he knew he was never going to find it.

Molly flicked her wand at the clothes and mumbled a continuous spell under her breath so the clothes would clean without her and then made her way noisily into the kitchen to give Harry some warning. She needn't have bothered. He didn't seem to hear her anyway. He was sitting at the table, staring at the clock she had once loved and had now come to dread. She wasn't so sure he could see it, though. His eyes were glazed with what she thought might be tears, but when she sat down beside him, he forced a smile.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley. Sorry if I disturbed you. I was just…" he faded off. He had no idea _what_ he was doing or why he had come down here or why he couldn't seem to keep his mind on anything for more than five minutes today.

Luckily, she seemed to understand. Mothers always understood, he realized.

She put her hand on his arm and said gently, "it doesn't just get easier because the funeral's over. This is where the new beginning has to start. You, of all people, know how hard that is, Harry, dear. Don't feel bad for not feeling better yet."

He nodded, swallowing hard. His eyes burned, and he looked away from her and at the clock again. "How," he started, but his voice caught, and he had to take a breath and start again. "How are you doing this? How can you not be mad? How can…" and the words spilled out against his will… "how can you not know this is my fault?"

He had to get out of the kitchen. He hadn't meant to say it, and now he couldn't bear to hear her answer. He'd just shoved his chair back and was about to stand up when she put her hand on his arm again, and he froze. He still wouldn't look at her, though.

"Harry," she said crisply, and now he did look up, startled by the change in her tone. "It's time for this to stop. I know you feel responsible. You always do. But can you understand that your sense of responsibility is part of the reason you were able to finally defeat Voldemort?"

He shook his head, looking back down at the table. He'd heard this before. He even had some idea it might be true. But it didn't make him feel any less responsible for the grief he had caused this family he loved so much.

"Listen, dear," she said, her tone softer. "I know you and love you like you're one of my own. And even though I know you will feel guilty about this until _you_ are ready not to, I want you to know that none of us blame you. George was exactly right in what he said yesterday. Fred would have done anything for any member of his family, and he fought for all of us, but he mainly fought for you. He…" she trailed off. It wasn't even the thought of her son that caused her to lose her voice but the effect that she saw her words were having on Harry.

He hadn't gotten out of his seat, but he now sat with his head hanging, staring at the floor. What she could see of his face reminded her of how he'd looked the night Voldemort returned … the night Cedric died. She felt the same instinct she'd felt that night, and she moved her chair closer to him, pulling him into her arms and holding him tightly in the way she'd held all of her children at one time or other. She felt his breathing become shaky, and her arms tightened around him.

Harry realized immediately that Mrs. Weasley had done it to him again. She always mothered him, but whenever she hugged him at times like this, he felt an aching need for his own mother, and every tear he was trying to blink back welled up in his eyes. He buried his face in her shoulder, silently thankful that Ron wasn't here this time, and he felt the tears seeping out and dampening her robes. After a moment, he muttered, "sorry," and she merely rubbed his back in response. When he finally felt calm enough to look at her, he pulled away from her, drawing his hand across his eyes.

"Thanks," he mumbled, meeting her eyes briefly, and she rested her hand on his cheek for a moment.

"Think about what I said," she told him softly. "It will take you a little while, but someday you'll know I'm right."

He nodded quickly and then stood up and left the room, finding his way out into the garden where Molly knew he would find Ginny. She hoped he would talk to her too. Someday, they would convince this boy who lived that he'd made the whole world a better place even if he made their own a little harder for a while.

He wasn't the only one still grieving. Hours later, Molly had just finished cleaning up after lunch when she heard more footsteps on the stairs. This time, her heart beat faster when her youngest son clattered to a stop in front of her. Hermione had already told her very briefly about his talk with George, and she knew she'd have to say something to him about it. She just wasn't sure how.

Ron smiled weakly when he noticed her at the sink.

"Hey Mum," he said in a bad imitation of his happy voice. "What are you planning for dinner?"

"Ron," Molly said in exasperation, forgetting for a moment that this was probably an act, "are you ever not hungry?"

He smiled at her somewhat sheepishly, and she smiled back, but his faded more quickly than she had ever seen before.

"I need to talk to you and Dad about something," he said nervously, and she nodded.

"Your father's outside in his garage. Do you want me to go get him?"

"Well…" he thought about this. "Do you think… do you think I could talk to you, and then you could mention it to him?"

Molly sighed inwardly. She was beginning to think that her children were avoiding their father these days, but she also knew that her sons always found it easier to talk to her alone about the hard stuff. They always knew their father would understand, but they also seemed slightly afraid of losing face if he were there, so Molly nodded.

"Let's sit. Should I make some tea?"

"No. No, it's ok. I just… I need to tell you this."

"Ok…" They walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. Staring straight ahead, Ron took a deep breath and said, "I'm going to help George with the joke shop. I told him last night. I'm not taking my NEWTs."

Molly spread her hands on her knees. "Ron…" she began, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The apprehensive look on his face showed that he was expecting an explosion. But she continued. "This is the best idea I think any of you have ever had. Thank you for doing this for your brothers."

Ron sat in stunned silence. This was not the reaction he had expected, and his mother seemed to know that. She put her hand on his back, and he wanted to thank her, wanted to say all of the things that were running through his mind, but he couldn't seem to say a word. He was afraid that if he tried, he'd be crying again, and he was pretty sure that he'd done enough of that the night before.

After a minute, he forced a smile and then got up to leave. He was halfway to the stairs when she called his name. He turned slowly, afraid that if he didn't leave now, he wouldn't make it in one piece. She was still sitting on the couch, but she was reaching for him, suddenly needing a hug of her own, and he read this in her face and his own crumpled.

Rushing back across the room, he fell to his knees beside the couch, burying his face in her apron and wrapping his arms around her waist. She smoothed his hair and bent over, holding him tightly as he choked on the sobs he fought so hard against. She'd never known Ron to resist his emotions this strongly, but she also knew how much this hurt.

"I miss him, Mum," he mumbled thickly into her lap, and she hugged him more tightly.

"I know you do," she whispered, her own tears spilling down her cheeks. She wished she knew why people always said funerals brought closure. They only brought home the reality no one wanted to admit.

As she hugged Ron more tightly, she had one more fervent wish. She wished Arthur were here. She wished she didn't feel like she was always doing this alone.


	12. Arthur

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Arthur was surrounded by spark plugs. He was in his garage, organizing all of his treasures and glancing occasionally at Sirius's motorbike, wondering how he would ever find a way to get it working again. He'd been tempted to start on it many times in the past few days, but whenever he picked up a piece, he'd put it back down again aimlessly. He just couldn't seem to focus. He didn't want to think about why.

As he roamed aimlessly around his garage, he found his thoughts turning to his children. He had seen Bill's face that morning when he had so reluctantly mentioned that he and Fleur ought to be getting on home, and he had seen his relief when Molly had invited them to dinner. Arthur shook his head to himself. This wasn't right, he thought to himself as he fiddled with the handlebars of the bike. Bill and Fleur should want to be by themselves. They should all want to go back to their lives. The thought flickered through his mind that he might not have known what they wanted anymore.

He knew he hadn't been around as much lately. Molly had been wiping their children's tears for days now, and he saw the strain in her face when she tossed and turned at night. The guilt that rose in him every time he saw her lined face was almost overwhelming, but he didn't know what else he could do. He was the first to admit to himself that for the first time in his life, he had no idea how to handle this. But he wished he could help her. He just didn't know how.

He was sitting on a chair in the corner, just staring at the broken toaster oven on the shelf in front of him, when someone opened the door to the garage. It was the first time this had happened in days, and he looked up with a start, wondering who on earth it could possibly be. His mouth fell open slightly when George appeared before him.

He half smiled at his father, scratching the side of his head where his ear had been.

"Dad, Mum's busy with Ron right now," and Arthur saw the pain flit across his son's face and knew immediately what _that_ meant, and George continued, "and I needed to talk to one of you about the joke shop."

Arthur nodded, motioning for George to take the other seat. It wasn't that he was avoiding his children. It was just…they always seemed to prefer their mother when they needed comforting. He couldn't blame them.

George glanced up at his father. "So I talked to Ron last night, and he said he wants to help me with the shop, and honestly… I think he'd actually be good at it. Don't tell him I said that, though…" he trailed off, and Arthur allowed himself a small smile.

"I won't," he promised, and George almost smiled back. Almost. Then he turned serious again.

"It's just… I know I should be getting back there to the apartment and everything, but…" he trailed off again, and this time, Arthur didn't smile. George didn't look up again either. Arthur didn't know what to say and suddenly had a moment of appreciation for all Molly had been doing.

After a moment, Arthur cleared his throat. "Whenever you go back, it will be hard," he told George quietly. "But you have to do it at some point. Why don't you take Ron, Hermione and Harry with you? I bet Ginny would even go too. They could help. It might be easier if you're not alone…"

It was the wrong word to say. Arthur knew it the moment it left his mouth. It was the only word George had never had to worry about before, and now it was the only one that was on his mind. His eyes filled with tears, and he couldn't look at his father. He was about to stand and find his way out of the garage when Arthur did the last thing either of them expected.

He'd been watching George fight the tears, and he felt his own eyes fill again. This was why he'd been spending so much time in the garage, but he'd manage to keep himself together around the rest of the family. Until now. Sitting alone with his son, something broke inside him. George looked up quickly when he heard a noise that had become so familiar to him but was not what he'd expected to hear in here.

Arthur was looking steadily at George through reddened eyes as the tears slid down his own face. Neither of them spoke, and then Arthur thought about what Molly would do, and he tentatively opened his arms. Without a second thought, George flung himself into them, not even trying to fight his own sobs anymore. Seeing his father's grief was as hard as he'd thought it would be … but somehow, it made expressing his own seem ok for the first time.

A/N: Once again, a shorter chapter, but I think it does the job. Well, I thought this would be the last one, but I feel like I should let George go back to the joke shop (maybe with the others) at least once just to wrap things up. I think he deserves to be the one to end this since he started it all.


	13. The Beginning

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: Ok, I've made it to the end, so I hope you all enjoy this last chapter, which is, of course, the longest one. I became even more motivated to write this (and maybe even a sequel) after watching the interview with JKR on Dateline where she discussed her choice of which twin would die. She said she always knew it would be Fred, and she referred to him as the harder of the two, calling George a bit gentler. I think we've all seen that in all of the fics everyone's been writing. (**Oh, the sequel will be called Still Left Behind One Year Later**. I'll probably also be working on Just Because It's Right again.) I wish I could thank all reviewers, but I hope you all know how much I appreciated the encouragement. (ncis-lady, especially… thanks so much.)

Bill and Fleur sat in their room that night and looked at one another. They'd just finished eating yet another delicious dinner, and they knew it was time to go home. They also knew that they would never really be ready. But there was nothing for that.

Fleur couldn't sit still for another moment. She got to her feet and rechecked the bags that she had already checked three times that evening.

"Have everything?" Bill asked, his voice deeper than usual, as he watched her from his seat on his bed.

Her back to him, she nodded, careful to keep her hair as a shield so he wouldn't see her face. She knew he would quickly identify the tears in her eyes, and she didn't want to make this any harder on him than it already was. She also knew that he was embarrassed to find leaving home so very difficult, so she forced a note of cheer into her voice and pretended not to know her husband as well as they both knew she did.

"Yes, eet ees all 'ere. Are you… ready?" Her voice trembled, but she hoped he would be too preoccupied to notice. He was.

"Let's go," he muttered, reaching for his wand to transfer their bags to Shell Cottage ahead of them. She watched as they disappeared from view and then turned to look at her husband. His scarred face looked pained, and he reached silently for her hand. Holding onto each other tightly, they made their way back down the crooked stairs to the kitchen. The only people in there were Molly and Charlie, and Bill breathed a small sigh of relief. He couldn't have made it through every single goodbye in one piece if they'd paid him, and he was secretly relieved that he wouldn't have to try.

Before he could say anything, however, Fleur rushed into her mother-in-law's arms, and Molly held the young woman tightly, her eyes filling with tears. Looking at Bill over her daughter-in-law's shaking shoulders, she managed to say, "I take this to mean you're leaving?"

He just looked at her and nodded, afraid to speak himself. Charlie noticed this and stepped over to him, reaching out to shake his hand, Bill noticed with relief. He had just taken Charlie's hand when his younger brother surprised him by pulling him into a hug. He didn't expect it, and he couldn't handle it. He knew he'd fall apart if they stood there a moment longer, so he pulled away from his brother and touched Fleur's shoulder.

"Let's go," he rasped, grasping her hand. He was about to disapparate when his mother's hand stopped him.

"I don't get a goodbye?" she asked. She had regained her own composure and was giving her oldest a steady look filled with understanding. He turned away from Fleur quickly to kiss Molly on the cheek, but when she put her hand on his face, he felt his eyes burning.

"We'll talk to you tomorrow," he managed to choke, and with a loud pop, they were gone. She stood staring at the empty spot in the kitchen where they'd been standing seconds earlier and then shook her head briskly. Without even looking at Charlie, she mumbled, "all of these goodbyes will be hard."

He couldn't help but agree.

George, on the other hand, felt the responsibility of the joke shop returning to him. He'd thought about his father's words in the hours since they'd talked in the garage, and he realized that he was probably right. He shouldn't go back to the shop alone… not the first time anyway. But he didn't know who to ask. He knew any of his siblings would be more than happy to go with him, but he didn't know who he would feel most comfortable having there. Finally, he decided that it would be stupid not to bring Ron, seeing as how he would need to learn the ropes eventually. And if he brought Ron, he'd have to bring all of the other people his father had mentioned… Hermione, Harry, Ginny… well, it could be worse, he mused. At least this way, no one would much notice if he didn't feel like talking.

He broached the topic at breakfast the next morning, and it was only after a moment of stunned silence that they all eagerly agreed to go along. He knew the nervousness in Ron's eyes, though. It was the same fluttering he felt in his own stomach that he would never admit to.

They apparated over to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes shortly after they'd all finished eating, and they found themselves standing on the pavement before the shop, staring at the window in silence. None of them spoke or moved until Ginny finally stepped forward, a resolve in her face that they all recognized, and said to George, "Were you planning on letting us in?"

He looked at her in confusion, and she repeated her question slowly.

"Oh… oh, yeah," he stuttered, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a key which he handed her. She moved decisively to the door, opened it, and walked in, followed hesitantly by Harry and Hermione. Ron stood beside George, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the door was now open. Neither of them looked at each other or even moved until Hermione came back out.

She looked at the two of them and then said carefully, "Why don't you come on in now?"

Hers was the only voice Ron would have heard right at that moment, and he looked at her and nodded, reaching for her hand, which he held tightly. He turned to George, who shook himself out of the fog that had seemed to settle over him, and the three of them made their way in.

Ginny had turned on the lights, and she and Harry were now dusting off the shelves. Neither of them were talking, though, and the reason was clear. In spite of the decisiveness of her movements, tears were trickling down Ginny's cheeks, and Harry's own eyes were pained as he watched her from the other side of the store. George took one look at his sister and knew that the last thing she wanted right now was sympathy, and he swallowed hard. He knew how she felt.

Turning away from the others, he walked into the back and found his way up the stairs. This was going to be the worst part, and he wanted to do it before anyone realized he had gone. Right now, he figured they would be too busy trying to make it seem like they were not looking out for Ginny.

He stood before the door of the room he and Fred had shared, took a deep breath, and opened it slowly. The sight that confronted him took his breath away ... because nothing had changed. It looked exactly as it had the last time they'd been here … together. He'd almost managed to forget how hard it had been to walk into their room in the Burrow for the first time, and now… it was as if no time had passed at all since the Battle.

He stumbled through the door and barely made it to Fred's bed before the tears overtook him. He reassured himself with the thought _I'm alone_… but then the reality of that thought struck him, and he buried his face in his brother's pillow as he felt the sobs shake him.

"Why did it have to be you?" he sobbed, unable to stop the words he'd been thinking from pouring out along with all of the tears he knew he'd never stop shedding. "I can't do this without you. You might have been able to do this without me, Fred, but I can_not_ do it without you. I need you. I don't know how to be me without you."

No one answered him, and he cried harder. He didn't know when he'd ever stop, but he hoped in the back of his mind that his siblings would find enough to keep them occupied downstairs. He quickly realized that not all of them had when he heard Ron's voice.

"Don't be a git," he said hoarsely, and George rolled over in surprise to see his younger brother sitting on his own bed. He stared at him for a moment before turning onto his other side. He didn't speak, waiting for Ron to explain himself. He didn't have to wait long.

"Do you really think Fred would have been able to do this without you? Mate, I don't think many people knew the two of you like I did, and as much as I know that he might have been a little tougher than you… this … _this_… would have brought him down too. How can you not know that?"

The tears continued to seep into the pillow, and George found himself saying all of the things he'd never imagined himself saying out loud to anyone.

"Maybe… but it's like … at Hogwarts, I could pretend he was back home. And when we were home, I could pretend he was just at the store. But now … he's not here. He's never…" he couldn't say another word. _Damn it_, he thought to himself, rubbing his face on the sheet. He'd never thought he'd say these things to Ron … or to anyone, for that matter… but he was just so miserable, so lost… and he needed to think someone understood at least a little. When Ron didn't answer, though, he felt his face flushing. _Great, the only other possible partner I'll have in this shop thinks I'm a nutter,_ he thought to himself, and then he forced himself to look at Ron, and he knew he was wrong.

His little brother was sitting on the side of the bed, his face in his hands. George had made him cry. Again. He got to his feet unsteadily and made his way across the cluttered room where he sat down and squeezed Ron's shoulder. After a few minutes, Ron took a deep breath and removed his hands. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes and then…

"Well, come on downstairs," George said, standing and pulling Ron up with him. "You and I have got a lot of work to do."

Wordlessly, they made their way down the stairs. They found Harry, Ginny and Hermione still cleaning. All of their eyes were bloodshot, but they all seemed calm.

George clapped his hands, and the three of them turned around in surprise.

"I am hereby issuing a proclamation," he said with a sidelong glance at Ron. "If it ever gets out that the five of us spent the afternoon crying in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, it will be incredibly bad for business. I hereby declare that if anyone ever finds out, whoever told will become the joke tester of that week. I also declare that there will be no more tears in this store unless they are caused by the marvelous creations of Gred and Forge… and Ron Weasley."

At this last addition, Ron's eyes were suspiciously bright, but he forced a smile.

"'Ear, 'ear," Harry said quietly, making them all laugh weakly through their tears. "It's time to make people laugh again."

George couldn't have agreed more.


End file.
